


The Chemical Formula for Love

by LotusGirl



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: A fanfic of a fanfic, Art, Chemistry, M/M, Poetry, depressed poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-30 19:23:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19409782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LotusGirl/pseuds/LotusGirl
Summary: Afterschool, Nathaniel and Marc find themselves unraveling in the midst of their chemistry homework.





	The Chemical Formula for Love

In a prison of grey we sat on opposite sides.

This prison in which the air chokes the life out of the dreamers, the fighters, and the artists. Yet even in this space, he brings the most lovely high without a single drop of cocaine or angel's dust.

His hands created worlds I could never dream of where no man's science could ever be applied. His eyes depict a lake that which reflects the moon in all of its brilliance, where the greatest mysteries lie untold. What a beautiful imagination he had, an eternal spring shaded by willows and their scarlet blooms. What made them blossom such a deep color, the color of soldiers returning from war, of lovers whispering in each other's ears in a dark bedroom, or even the sacrifice given to keep this reality intact.

"Nathaniel, do you know the answer to this question." I hastily ask. glancing at him for a response.

His posture alluded to a sleeping fox who was just made aware of a nearby predator, making it clear he hadn't paid a wink of attention the work that kept them in chains.

"Mm, no. I didn't read what it asked, "he responded softly, just now taking up the paper to work.

The room was deathly silent, as though everything was tense and on high alert and dare not make a peep. The dare devil testing tubes under the sink clearly had not taken part in the alarm, as the drip drip drip could still be heard over my thoughts.

I didn't want it to show, but my anxious heart was beginning to suffocate my mind. Thousands of voices were screaming, they wanted nothing more than to drive me insane. One was biting at my voice, for I couldn't risk making a fool of myself at the mercy of Nathaniel. Another was wanting to bury the boy's head in the ground for being an incompetent fool, letting himself get caught up in dreams instead of listening to reality. Even still, one was being driven mad by the drip drip drip of the faucet.

The words were beginning to float around the paper, my scribbles eating up the white space as I began to panic. I wanted to leave and be done with this, but the worksheet wasn’t even half done yet. Calculations and equations began to circle my head when Nathaniel asked--

“Do you know the chemical equation for love?”

I was caught off guard. It took several moments for his words to sink in.

“W-What? That’s not--”

“Do you know the chemical equation for love?”

He asked more sternly this time, a serious look glossing over his hypnotic eyes. They were rarely ever full, but it was a sight to behold when they were. It was as if the world was okay again, not an ounce of darkness to hurt a single soul. They were so incredibly beautiful, I wanted to stare on for centuries. But he needed an answer.

“Um. . .isn’t it-- uh, crap um-- dopamine, serotonin, and oxytocin?”

Nathaniel nodded rather slowly before picking up his pencil and started scribbling words and doodles across the page, which, might I add, were definitely not the answers to the questions.

“When prepared in a lab. . . the chemicals can kill your brain’s sanity. . . make you imagine things that don’t exist and be fearful of things that aren’t real.”

“I guess. . .,” I said, trying to ignore his madness and turn back to the problems at hand.

He could be rather insufferable at times, couldn’t he.

“Have you ever been in love, Marc?”

I stopped cold.

Nathaniel wasn’t even looking at me, he was still drawing on the paper. How could he ask that so casually? Without seeming to have any ulterior motives? How could I know what love is? People danced around the meaning, usually on polarizing definitions that lay only on personal experience. “It’s the butterflies in your stomach when you’re near someone!” “It’s complete and utter torture.” “It’s the most amazing high you’ll ever have.” “It’s a waste of time.” “It’s the feeling in the bedroom you’ll feel nowhere else.” “It’s nothing but pain and heartache.” Etc. Etc.

But how could I know if any of those feelings were love, when they themselves can’t agree on what it is. 

Sure I’ve had butterflies. . . when I was having an anxiety attack. More like a bunch of rabid dogs chewing up my insides.

I never felt those sorts of things around others.

And Nathaniel?

. . . 

With Nathaniel, it was ethereal. It was being stuck in a moon-intoxicated dream, drunk on fantasies and in a state of peace. It was the roses that were bled upon for a lost lover, but rejected all others who dare use them for their purposes. It was the stars coming out to sing and in the silence, it was the most amazing concert. It was finding scars on his skin and him saying they were from the gods leaving a death threat on his life, but he escaped every time to keep living. It was seeing such beauty and elegance in something so sad and heartbroken, it was a gift from those who hurt him.

But there were those who say some love is bad, unnatural, forbidden, and I had nothing to see if it was even real or not.

How could I know for sure.

“No. I haven’t.”

“That must be nice,” Nathaniel said, drawing continuous lines across the worksheet as though he were preparing to cut it up.

It was pretty clear I had no attention saved for the work anymore, so I asked, “What’s it like? Being in love, I mean.”

Nathaniel stopped drawing for a moment to think and said, “I guess, it depends on who you ask. There’s so many who think crushes and infatuation are love. They think obsessing over every little thing the subject of their affection, viewing them to be an idol of perfection and feeling butterflies and anxious symptoms to be love. But really, it. . . isn’t. Love is still caring for another person for all their flaws and mistakes. It’s finding them beautiful in a state of dishevelment and wanting to do everything to keep them happy and safe, even if that means giving them up.”

He had such sadness in his eyes when he explained it. It was as though he was reliving a past memory, one he left buried in the sand on a darkened beach abandoned by all.

“So many people. . . don’t understand love beyond what they believe it is. They have no concept of love of others, love of family, love outside of sex or romance or crushes or infatuation, even outside of tradition. They’re incredibly close-minded, refusing to grasp things outside of their ideals. . .I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to go off on you like that.”

I was so shaken by his lament I didn’t realize he was apologizing.

“No, don’t apologize! I. . .I like listening to you talk. It’s nice to hear your thoughts for once. I mean, you never really say anything about something deep like that. It’s really interesting.”

Nathaniel gave a shy smile, but I could tell he was uncomfortable now, having let me a look at his inner demons. We hadn’t known each other terribly long, it would make sense for him to get a little tense and awkward to spill his guts to a near-stranger.

I felt bad for asking the initial question now.

“. . . catalyst. . .”

“Excuse me?”

“The answer to the question you’re on. It’s catalyst.”

I glanced over at his worksheet and realized only a portion of it was covered in drawings. The answers were filled in, blended in with the chaos of it all. It was amazing how he could find such harmony between contrasting elements. I loved that about him.

“Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fanfiction of another fanfiction. My duck told me to post it. If you're looking at the nathmarc relationship fics, you've probably read it already.


End file.
